Game On
by The Croc Shop
Summary: Zuko isn't exactly the best pai sho player around. Mai isn't exactly impressed.


Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Avatar: the Last Airbender._ This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

This is set post-series. It is very, very silly, but that's the way I like it.

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**Game On**

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Perusing the pai sho board, Zuko did his best to focus on the pieces played and those left to be played; to falter so early in this game would be disgraceful. Mai shifted, her chang-ao rustling lightly as she leaned close to him. Her breath ghosted against his cheek. Her hair fell over his shoulder in a dark and scented wave.

Zuko fiddled with one of the tiles and cleared his throat.

"Don't play that one," Mai advised in a low voice; the sound of it echoed through him. She tapped her lacquered nail against another tile: the autumn cherry. "Play this one instead, at the juncture of the north and west winds."

"I know what I'm doing," Zuko said. He played the spring watercress, slapping it down upon the board.

Mai sighed, her breath whispering in his ear. "You shouldn't have done that."

"A man must play his own pieces," Iroh said sagely. "Only then can he see the flaws in his strategy." He placed the fire lotus and in so doing claimed three of Zuko's tiles.

"You can't do that!" said Zuko.

"Yes, he can," said Mai. She brushed her fingers across his nape, a gentle touch that burned his skin. "I'm trying to help you, Zuko."

"I don't need any help," Zuko grumped.

"Really," Mai said. "I hadn't realized losing was part of your strategy."

"I'm not losing!"

"You fooled me," Mai said. Nimbly, she nicked the autumn cherry and set it upon the board, in a distant counterpoint to Iroh's fire lotus. Her chest brushed Zuko's back, soft and exquisite in its softness. She withdrew.

Zuko gathered his dignity around him. "What are you doing?" he demanded, gesturing sharply at the board.

Serene and unmoved, her hands tucked in her sleeves, Mai informed him, "I'm saving your offense."

"My offense doesn't need any saving," he said. "It's fine the way it is."

"No, your offense is terrible," Iroh said. "She's right. That was an excellent move, Lady Mai."

Zuko hunched over the board. The next few hands he played with relative ease, setting his pieces down with grim certainty and a confidence that persisted though Iroh's gains mounted with each hand. Iroh played the winter oak and in so doing cut off the advance Zuko had considered pursuing.

Zuko weighed three tiles in his hand and frowned, considering the board and the options left to him. Perhaps the white camellia at the juncture of the southern wind and the red sea? But if he played it there, he would leave several of his tiles at Iroh's mercy, which did not often manifest in games of pai sho.

"Oh, will you-- move," said Mai. She crowded him, shoving at his shoulders. "Move," she said again, permitting him no recourse but to obey.

Intent on the pai sho board, she nearly sat in Zuko's lap; with a dignified squawk and absolutely no flailing at all, he shot off the stool. Mai settled neatly upon the stool in his stead. She shook out her sleeves and smoothed the folds in her chang-ao with customarily fastidious grace, and when she had arranged her garments to her liking, she turned to the board.

Mai played the red lily right of her hand.

Iroh leaned over the board, stroking his fingers through his beard. "Oh ho!" he said. "A Crimson Gambit. Very daring."

"That was going to be my next move," said Zuko.

Mai folded her hands into her sleeves. "Of course it was," she said.

Iroh grinned at her across the board. "At last, a worthy opponent," he said. "It is an honor to play opposite you, Lady Mai."

Delicately, she inclined her head.

"Uncle!" said Zuko, scandalized. "Mai! I was _playing_."

"Poorly," she said. "I couldn't stand to watch you."

Zuko popped his fists against his thighs. "You can't just take over someone else's game," he hissed.

"Ah, but she did," said Iroh. "It's for the best, I think. Stick around, Zuko, and you might learn something."

"I don't have anything to learn!" he said. "I was doing fine!"

"You did your best," Mai conceded. She rubbed his lower back, an idle circling he suspected was meant to comfort. Zuko folded his arms and scowled.

"You should relax, Zuko," Mai said. She patted his hip. "Why not make some tea?"

"Jasmine, if you please," added Iroh. He studied the board, eyes narrowing. "I suspect this will be a long game."

*

Zuko banged around in the back of the tea shop, occasionally coming forward to peer out at Mai and Iroh. Bent over their game, neither Mai nor Iroh looked to him, no matter how he rustled or banged or grumbled his grievances sotto voce. He scowled and withdrew.

What stung most was knowing Mai _was_ his superior where pai sho was concerned. Too, he knew her well enough to understand she had little patience for incompetence and even less interest in attending to those who either could not recognize or refused to correct their own incompetence. And she had been right: her moves were deft and clever, her pieces more aptly placed than his own.

"But still!" Zuko said to the fire he tended. "It was my game. And I wasn't losing." Not yet, anyway. Zuko grumbled to himself, but the passionate heart of his righteous fury had grown calm and meditative.

The teapot sighed and sang. He removed it from the fire and set about filling the small cups, one for Iroh and one for Mai and two for himself. Placing them neatly on the tray, he returned to the salon.

He came even with the two of them. Iroh scratched at his scalp, his fingers worrying through his hair, but Mai sat primly, the fingers of one hand resting lightly on her chin, the fingers of the other curled over the lip of her sleeve. Though he had vowed he would remain aloof and disinterested, Zuko found himself studying the pattern of the pieces played, puzzling through the evidence presented to him.

"Who's winning?"

Mai folded her hands together in her lap. "I am," she said.

"Zuko!" Iroh said, holding his hands high. "It's terrible! She's captured my fire lotus!"

"Really?" Zuko said. He peered at the board and it was true: the fire lotus was nowhere to be seen.

Mai held the piece up between her fingers, the faintest of smiles playing at the corner of her lips. "It wasn't too difficult," she said. "He left his flank open." She sighed. "I expected better."

Adoration welled up within Zuko, adoration for the slight hint of a smirk, the grace with which she placed her next tile, the merciless disconcern which so colored her relentless offensive rush. He set the cup of tea down by her elbow.

"I still haven't forgiven you," Zuko said to her.

"I hardly hoped," murmured Mai.

"Perhaps you two might wish to switch places once again," suggested Iroh. "Allow Zuko a chance to redeem himself."

"I'm fine," said Mai placidly.

Zuko smiled down at her. "Yeah," he said. "She's fine."

"My nephew," Iroh said mournfully. "So fickle!"

He played his piece.

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This was originally posted at livejournal on 08/30/2009.


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